The Bartender's Tale
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Written in Response to Kavi's TV Prompt Challenge. Meet Joe, the friendly bartender, who manages to gain more insight into a certain group of profilers than most would ever know. Ch 5 - REID
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...**_

_**Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale".**_

**The B****artender's Tale**

_**"Hotch"**_

Looking up from the scarred counter he stood wiping, he smiled faintly as he watched them straggle in. Led by Aaron Hotchner, or the Hammer, as Joe often thought of him, the others drifted through the door after him. Their steps seemed slower tonight, weighted as they shuffled behind their leader.

Reaching for the components to prepare Hotch's drink automatically, he mixed the vodka and red wine in equal parts, adding one last stir before he wiped the glass. The drink suited him. The Brutal Hammer. Smooth enough to suit Aaron Hotchner's obvious diplomatic demeanor, yet providing the ruthless kick the man apparently needed to dull his senses from the brutality he witnessed daily.

"Hotch," Joe nodded, sliding his drink in front of him, like he had countless times in the past. "You all just getting in?"

Nodding, Aaron reached for the glass. "Do me a favor, Joe. Just start a tab for us."

"No problem," Joe murmured, looking toward the group slowly making their way toward the old bar. "Musta been a bad one, huh?"

"It definitely had its ugly moments," Hotch replied evenly, his fingers tightening around the heavy glass. "See you later, Joe," he continued, making his way wearily toward their regular booth at the back, his slow movement telling Joe everything he needed to know about the day these folks had seen.

He'd been watching this particular group for years, ever since he'd taken over ownership of The Watering Hole. Sure, he served lots of g-men. Occupational hazard when you owned a bar this close to the Federal Building. But in a sea of suits, this mismatched group of misfits was special.

And he couldn't deny, he had a soft spot for each one of them. Including the man they called Hotch.

He'd met Aaron Hotchner years ago, when he was young, idealistic and his eyes hadn't held that deep sorrow. No, back then, he'd still smiled. Often. It had been Jason Gideon and David Rossi that had introduced him to their young protégé, each one obviously proud that they'd found the perfect agent to mold. But even way back then, Hotch had been his own man, unwilling to be clay in the elder profilers' hands.

The years had obviously eroded the young man's soul, the job costing him his wife, and very nearly his young son. But, slowly, inch by painstaking inch, his team was dragging this Hotch back into the world. Especially that Emily Prentiss, the newest addition to their little group. When Aaron looked at her, he could see the spark of interest flickering in the Unit Chief's dark eyes. And Joe suspected the rest of the team could, too. Even if they chose to ignore it.

Acknowledgement would mean admittance that their leader was breaking a rule. And anybody that knew anything about Aaron Hotchner knew that rules defined him....a G-man to his core. But if there was one thing he knew about these folks...they knew how to keep each other's secrets. Another occupational hazard that he recognized immediately. A bartender knew more about people than those files that ol' J. Edgar was supposed to have kept. But these people, they'd sure as hell been doing it long enough to make it an art form.

Watching as Hotch slipped into the booth, facing the wall, Joe shook his head. Hotch was a good kid that had gotten several lousy breaks. He knew the younger man had married his high school sweetheart straight out of college, but the pretty woman that he remembered hadn't been cut out for the bureaucratic lifestyle. They'd divorced and she'd taken his son away from him. He thought the stoic man might break then, eyes duller than Joe'd ever seen before. God knew, the lonely man spent many a night sitting on the stool in front of him, downing shot after shot in an effort to dull the pain.

Unfortunately, that hadn't been the worst though. Far from it.

The worst had come just last year. When Hailey Hotchner had been murdered in cold blood. He could still remember that night like it was yesterday, Aaron Hotchner's shattered face burned forever in his mind as he'd stumbled into the bar. He hadn't needed to be a rocket scientist to know to reach for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He'd simply placed the full bottle and empty glass on the counter in front of him and then he'd watched the young man steadily drink his way to the bottom of it, gaining the tragic tale from his lips firsthand.

He'd hear many tales over the years, but that one…now that one had made him want to give up the business and close the doors. If the world was coming to this, what good was he?

But that night, as Aaron Hotchner had sipped the last of the Jack Daniels from his glass, the bar door had opened. And Emily Prentiss had walked in. Smiling faintly when he'd nodded at her, she'd made her way to Hotch, sliding casually on the stool next to him. And after several minutes of soft discussion, Hotch had allowed her to wrap her arm around his waist and guide him out of the bar.

Not a man known for particularly generous gestures, Joe had gladly comped that bottle of whiskey, hoping that it had slowed the younger man's pain, if only for a little while. And in a way, his own faith in humanity had been restored just a bit, watching the taller man lean heavily on that her thin shoulders. Somehow, Joe just knew that she could bear the weight.

Lately, things seemed a little easier for the young leader, his step a little lighter, despite tonight's weariness. And Joe strongly suspected it had a lot to do with the woman currently approaching his bar. At least, he hoped it did. Because in his opinion, if ever there was a woman that deserved a measure of happiness, it was her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...**_

_**Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale". You heard Joe's philosophy on Hotch. Now, let's see what he thinks of Emily Prentiss.**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"Emily"**_

Smiling at Emily as she approached the bar, her face worn from whatever tragedy she'd seen, Joe grinned as he pressed his hands to the aged, smooth counter. "Agent Prentiss! Lovely as always."

Snorting as she returned the elderly bartender's smile, Emily shook her head. "You're blowing smoke out of your ass again, Joe," she replied lightly, letting her eyes adjust to the low light as she glanced carefully around the alcoves.

Now, Joe thought with satisfaction, THAT was Emily Prentiss. She could even make a coarse statement sound cultured and sophisticated with that precise, lilting voice of hers. She was what he'd have deemed "one classy broad" back before the people started admonishing him for not being politically correct. As if that had ever stopped him before. A lady to her core with a backbone of pure steel...that was how he'd once described Emily to one admirer. And he'd never spoken truer words.

"According to the Hammer," Joe said, nodding toward Hotch's hunched shoulders in the back corner booth, shaking his balding head, "this has been a hell of a day."

"The Hammer was putting it mildly," Emily replied with a fond look over her shoulder. Turning back to the familiar bartender, she grinned, almost sadly this time, "I don't think my usual glass of Merlot is going to cut it tonight, my friend."

"Name your poison and it's yours," Joe offered generously, reaching for his rag and wiping the bar in front of her, the shining brass rail reflecting her dark hair.

"Hmmm...I'm thinking a very dry martini," Emily mused, glancing up at the display of aged and new bottles behind him. "Can you do that for me, Joe?"

Reaching easily for the vermouth, Joe grinned. Winking, he asked genially, "Have I ever let you down before, Emmy girl?"

"Not once," Emily smiled tiredly.

"Won't be startin' now," Joe said, turning to reach for a glass as watched her face. She looked low tonight, her shoulders a bit slumped under that high dollar jacket she sported. But not as low as he'd ever seen her, by any stretch. No, that had been years ago.

Allowing his mind to wander as he automatically prepared her drink, the recipe as ingrained as his own three names, he remembered that snowy night she'd drifted into his bar, tears dried against her pale cheeks. He also remembered the sad story she'd told him that night, haltingly at first, then resigned at the end, fate having tapped her on the shoulder one time too many. The tale of a misguided young girl that had given her virginity to her equally young beau and gotten in trouble. How that poor lass had gone against every conviction she'd ever had and aborted the baby. A capital sin in the religion they shared. He could still hear those heartrending words pouring from her lips, see the tears dripping into the glass of wine he'd poured for her, her delicate but strong fingers gripping the stem as if she was searching for a lifeline to pull her out of the drowning depths of her memories.

Emily Prentiss had needed forgiveness that night. Needed someone to understand that she wasn't a horrible person. That she knew she'd made a mistake. Though, in his opinion, after hearing the tragic tale, there'd really been no good options to find. Survival of the fittest and all that.

He'd done what he could for the strong lady that had sat at his counter, keeping her wine glass filled and glaring away the potential letches that perceived her as an easy conquest. And he had to give the lithe beauty credit...for such a little thing...she could pack away a bottle of wine with little trouble, besting many of the so-called men that made their way into his establishment to wile away the hours.

And when she'd looked him in the eye as he'd bundled her into the yellow cab and innocently asked, "Joe, I'm going to hell, aren't I?", he'd momentarily been at a loss, a rarity for him, his profession usually providing him with a steady babble of pat answers. But no pat answer would work then. Because, despite her alleged sin, he couldn't envision a God that wouldn't forgive a woman as remarkable as the young Emily. He hoped the God he knew was more interested in loving a little lost soul than keeping tally marks on some score pad. And he'd said the first thing that had come to his mind.

"No, Emily. I don't think ye are goin' to hell. I think you've already lived through it. Go home and get ye some rest, my girl." And he still believed every word he'd spoken to the young woman had been true...even years later. Time had only proven her worth to him, strengthening her place in his heart. The wee scrap of a lady that she was deserved some peace in her life. Personally, he thought she and the Hammer were an even match. Both tortured souls that could provide a soothin' balm to each other, if only they'd recognize it..

Sliding the perfectly prepared drink in front of her, he dropped two olives into the clear fluid, plopping them with pizzazz.

"Extra olives, Joe? Are you married?" Emily teased.

"Och...get ye gone lest the Hammer fall on my head, girl," he laughed, nodding toward the back of the bar, his eyes watching carefully as the young man wrapped both hands around that glass again, pulling it tiredly to his lips.

"Thanks, Joe," Emily smiled genuinely, picking up her chilled glass and making her way to the Hammer's side. Watching, Joe smiled as he watched her nudge his body with her hip and his body readily slide from his seat to allow her to slip in beside him. And when he scooted in closer to the brunette, leaning his shoulder ever so slightly against hers, Joe could only hope those two were closer to finding whatever solace they could get from one another.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...**_

_**Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale".**__**We've heard Joe's take on Emily Prentiss and her spine of steel. We know he considers Aaron Hotchner a Hammer with a heart of gold. Today, see what Joe, our neighborhood barman thinks of all things Derek Morgan.**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"Morgan"**_

Sighing deeply, Joe bit back a chuckle as he watched Derek Morgan's confident swagger as the tall man ambled toward the bar counter. Shaking his head, Joe couldn't help but like the young agent, despite his arrogant demeanor. Self-assured and cocky, oh that the man was. But he did hope, one day, to be present when the handsome bald man realized that his heart had been claimed long before he finally admitted it.

He did a fine job acting the part of the bad arsed agent, always a pretty girl attached to his arm after only a few moments in the bar. But Joe knew his secret. He'd learned of it that dark ugly night a few years ago. Derek Morgan's heart had already been claimed. The fine lad was just too stubborn...and perhaps, more than a little frightened to admit it.

"My man, Joe," Morgan greeted him enthusiastically as he stepped up to the bar, an easy smile plastered across his face. "How's it hangin', my friend?"

Smiling faintly, Joe didn't miss that in spite of the gleaming smile on Morgan's face, a banked sadness lingered in the other man's dark eyes. "I'm seventy years old, you arse," Joe grumbled, good naturedly, "I think you can use that imagination I've heard you're known for and answer that question for ye self. What'll it be on this nasty eve?"

"How 'bout a splash of rum?" Morgan replied, leaning against the gleaming brass rail, his elbows resting just on the edge.

His hand already reaching for a special squat bottle that rested on the second shelf, Joe nodded with a knowing grin as he agreed readily, "Aye, an excellent choice for a dreary evening. And I've got just the thing for you, my boy."

Looking down at the small bottle in the older bartender's hand, Morgan whistled appreciatively as he said, "Captain Morgan's Private Stock. Shoulda known you'd have something hidden up that blarney sleeve of yours."

"Thought you might want to savor a sip or two," Joe commented, his fingers easily measuring the dark liquid as it poured silkily into the heavy glass. Deliberately adding an extra shot to the quarter-filled glass, he kept one eye on the other man as he reached for the bucket of ice. "A rock or two for the trip?" Although, he thought after the words had slipped from his lips, rocky might have very well described the day the boy had experienced.

"Make it one," Morgan nodded toward the black container. He added, a bit more tightly than before, "I kinda need the kick tonight, if you get my drift."

Dropping one small cube with a perfect plop, Joe remembered another time when the burly agent had ordered the very thing. Even the weather had been the same that night, dark and dreary, casting a heavy pall over the entire city, dragging down everyone's spirits as they lingered around his round tables, almost dreading to drudge back out into the elements.

But Morgan, Morgan had been different that night. It didn't take one of those fancy psychology degrees to see that the man was hurting from far more than just a few clouds and a wisp of wind. No, the usually jovial man was hurting on the inside, which, according to his sainted mother, was a pain that ate away at the soul with bitterness abounding.

Joe had to give the young lad credit, however. He hid his pain well. Then and now. Obviously, the young agent knew a thing or two about erecting barriers. Now, he knew it would ease as the night wore on, the numbing affects of the alcohol and the healing power of a lasting camaraderie among his colleagues would aid the feat. But then...then had been a far different story.

That night, Joe had feared for this strong young lad's sanity...and his eternal soul. 'Twas a cursed night, it was, the night that dear sweet breath of fresh air that his entire team loved took a madman's bullet. The night Penelope Garcia had been shot. Joe still remembered the way the seemingly fearless man's hands had shaken when he'd taken the glass tumbler from his hands, spilling drops of the premium rum over his pristine counter. Stark anger and rage in his eyes had warred with the all-encompassing fear of losing someone he was afraid to claim.

He'd asked the young Derek Morgan that very night why he wasted his time with all the young pretty pieces that shined their light on him. And his answer would forever be ingrained in his mind.

"Because, Joe," he'd whispered hoarsely, wincing in heavy pain, "my Baby Girl deserves something special...something pure. And I'm not that man."

"But you love her, Laddie," Joe had blustered, refreshing the half-full glass that rested at Derek's elbow, dropping the drams with ease.

"Yeah, Joe, but my love comes with a high price tag to those who give it back. I won't ever do that to my Penelope. Ever," his raw voice had breathed, downing half the glass with one gulp.

And Joe had left it alone then, the younger man's mind rejecting even the possibility that he was exactly what young Penelope needed. It was sad, really. Two souls, so attuned to each other, yet, so far apart.

And time obviously hadn't changed that situation. Yet.

Pushing Derek's drink across the counter toward him, Joe tried not to shake his head as a breathy feminine voice at the back of the bar called for the federal agent. He could have told the other man that none of these young lasses held a tenth of the heart of the lovely Penelope, but he suspected that Derek Morgan was already aware.

Answering Morgan's tired grin with one of his own, Joe nodded toward the back of the bar, no condemnation in his voice. "Your fan club awaits. All yer pretty pieces lined up in a neat row," Joe drawled.

Shaking his head tiredly, Morgan replied softly, glancing over his shoulder toward the still closed door, "Not tonight. Garcia's right behind me. And tonight, I think I need a different kind of comfort."

"Wise choice, my friend," Joe winked, watching Morgan make his way back to Emily and the Hammer. Perhaps there was hope for the cocky Derek Morgan after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...**_

_**Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale". You heard Joe's philosophy on Hotch, Emily, and most recently, Morgan. Now, let's see why he had that overwhelmingly soft spot for Penelope Garcia...**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"Penelope"**_

Turning expectantly as he heard the leaden glass door open, the aged bartender smiled widely as he saw the bright, although slightly windblown, features of one of his favorite people. Outside of his own daughters, whom he loved more than life itself, Penelope Garcia was his favorite welcome splash of color in a normally dreary world.

Watching as she patted her orange and purple striped dog-ears into shape, Joe called out as she reached the edge of the bar, "Penny! How's my favorite girl managing this eve?"

"She's annoyed," Garcia answered with a heavy sigh, swatting at a loose strand of hair that refused to stay in place. Rolling her eyes at the effort, she then turned her smile on the bartender as she added, knowingly, "And parched. And I think you and I both know that that is a dangerous combination, my friend."

"Oh, faith and begorra, no," Joe agreed solemnly, propping his tongue in his cheek as he reached around to the side of the polished bar, easily lifting the moveable panel. Watching her expectantly drop her coat and oversized purse on the nearest bar stool, he motioned with one hand, encouraging her, "Get on back here, doll, before the world quits spinning or something equally as horrible. I never like it to be said that I kept a lady waiting."

Patting his arm as she slipped by him, smiling widely, Garcia murmured with a chuckle, "Now, see, Joe, that's why you've always been my favorite. If more men understand that little sentiment, the world would be a much nicer place, don't you think?"

"Looks like it might not have been a good day for you or your team, my girl," Joe said knowingly, catching sight of the dark circles under her eyes that her usually perfect make-up had not quite managed to conceal completely. Watching as her lips tightened as she just barely shook her head, he took the hint as he nodded toward the side shelf. "You'll be pleased to know that those tiki umbrellas were delivered just this morning. I ordered a gross just for you."

Patting his weathered face as she brushed past him, Joe smiled, watching as the young woman reached for the goldfish bowl sized glass easily. "Ah, so we aren't playin' games tonight, are we, lass?" he asked, watching as she sat the glass on his bar and eyed it, hands upon her hips.

"Nope," Garcia declared succinctly. "Believe me, Joe. I've earned my swim in this fishbowl tonight."

"Ah, did the Hammer drop on ye head, girl?" Joe asked with a quirked brow, watching as she pushed the large glass in wide circles on the counter.

"I think each member of my misbegotten crew took a turn on my tilt-a-whirl today," Pen sighed heavily, her shoulders falling for a moment.

"Ah, yes, it's been indicated that 'twas a nasty bit of business ye've all faced this day," Joe nodded sagely. "But," he said jovially, squeezing Penelope to him, wrapping a fatherly arm around her slumped shoulders, "'tis over now."

Smiling tiredly, little lines bracketing the usually peppy woman's eyes, Penelope nodded. "It is. Our brave-hearted profilers once again emerged victorious despite the overwhelming odds."

"And if I know you, you had a spot of something to do with the success, my girl," Joe winked.

"What can I say? My talents are many," Penelope smiled, eyes twinkling again. "Who else has made it over here, Joey?" she asked breezily, grabbing the coconut rum from the shelf behind her.

Watching as the red haired minx took over his bar, Joe bit back a laugh. For years, this tiny lass had laid siege to his territory, mowing down any barriers that he might once have thought of erecting. And he could honestly say, this beauty was the only one he ever had or would bend his strict rules for. But, there again, her iron will rivaled his. Jerking his graying head toward the back of the bar, he answered, "The Hammer and Emily arrived a spot ago and your lad just walked in before you."

"Derek isn't "my" anything," Penelope sighed, measuring the banana liqueur into her glass. "You know that, Joe," she said softly, looking up to meet his eyes.

Frowning slightly as he watched the young lady that was much admired by himself and others add juice to her concoction, he sighed. It hadn't always been like this. That deep seated sadness hadn't always hovered in her gaze. Sadly, he could precisely pinpoint that lackluster addition to her demeanor. The night she'd found out about a Ms. Tamara Barnes, almost two years ago. A rather short-lived affair for Derek Morgan in the span of things...but it had left lasting scars on the beautiful Penelope.

He hadn't forgotten that night when she'd virtually set up camp behind his counter, concocting fruity mixed drink after fruity mixed drink and downing them all in astonishingly quick succession. Not because Derek had chosen a flavor of the week...no...it had been because it had been the one and only time young Penelope Garcia had asked him not to sample a particular brand. For in her eyes, and most everyone else's also, the elegant Tamara should have been off-limits. A victim's sister, she was. And Derek had committed a sin beyond the pale in the young woman's eyes. Not only had he broken the rules...he'd broken a piece of Penelope's heart.

According to Penelope's drunken ramblings that eve, the obviously delusional Derek Morgan had ignored her well meant warnings and accused her of not knowing him a'tall. A monstrous mistake if ever there was one. Because he knew this wonderful lady had never forgotten that hastily spoken accusation. She might have forgiven it. But Joe knew as sure as the sun would rise on the morn, she'd forgotten nothing.

And, he'd watched her. She'd never interfered in Derek Morgan's love life again. In fact, she carefully tried to ignore the lady loves, choosing instead to concentrate on those things she might have a little power over. Instead, she made a joke of it. And he wasn't surprised to hear her now.

"So, has our little Romeo already joined his bevy of Juliets?" Penelope asked casually, her laugh forced as she glanced at Joe.

"Nay," Joe drawled with a slow shake of his head. "Actually he mentioned that 'twas your company he wanted this eve, Lass. I think our alley cat might be ready to be tamed, Penny."

"Don't count on it, my Lucky Irish Charm," Penelope snorted, swirling the heavy glass with a practiced hand.

"Give yerself some credit, Penny. We both know that you're exactly what the fierce Morgan needs," Joe said softly, touching her arm as she lifted her bowl in her arms, clutching it possessively to her chest.

Looking up into Joe's face, Penelope sighed as she whispered, "Why can't you be forty years or so younger, Joe?"

"Because, my girl, I, too, was as stupid as young Derek forty years ago. But like fine Irish whiskey," Joe grinned, lifting the polished counter for her to slip out, "we, too, grow better with age."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...**_

_**Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale". You heard Joe's philosophy on Hotch, Emily, Morgan and Penelope. Now, let's see how the Boy Wonder, Reid, affects our affable bartender. Oh, and guys...this is it on this one until Monday!**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"Reid" **_

Watching as Spencer Reid slipped through the plate glass door, his shoulders slumped and his lanky frame stooped, Joe sighed. Now, it was gospel that he hated to watch any of the BAU's gifted team of people suffer for any reason. Each, uniquely special to him in their own way, Joe tried to take care of each soul as best he could. But the good doctor...now he was a special case.

Watching as the spindly youth made his way toward the counter, his limp blonde hair hanging against his cheeks, Joe fought the urge to let out another one of his great-grandfather's soul-tingling sighs. "Our Dr. Reid has finally returned to the fold," Joe's Irish voice brogue boomed as the young man reached the polished surface of the bar.

Smiling faintly, Reid shook his slightly at the older man. "You are entirely too jovial a man, Joe."

"Och! No such thing," Joe snorted, filling a tall glass with ice as he reached for his blender. "Looks as if you could use one of my private recipes, my boy," Joe said, measuring the pale kid in front of him with a practiced eye. "A spot of sugar to cheer ye up should do the trick." He'd learned long ago that this particular look the young man wore called for a little ingenuity in the drink department. Like his long ago son, God rest his soul, nothing could be done in the usual way for Dr. Reid. Including the submersion of his sorrows in an alcoholic beverage. His curse wouldn't allow for it any more that his golden Johnny's had. And Joe refused to stand by while another talented young man succumbed to the siren's call. Not on his watch.

"Make it a double," Spencer joked tiredly, his eyes cataloguing the older man's every move as he watched him reach for a bunch of perfectly ripened bananas.

"Have I ever failed you, my son?" the bartender inquired, meeting the younger man's eyes as he expertly pulled off one banana, popping the stem at exactly the right place. Peeling the skin with practiced hands, he nodded his head toward the vacant stool. "Now, sit and talk while we determine exactly what pieces are gonna make up this concoction."

"Let's not try the grenadine this time," Spencer shuddered as he eased onto the ancient wooden stool, his long legs pulling up to rest his feet on the lower brass rail. "Not exactly a fan."

"Aye, I remember," Joe nodded, breaking pieces of the fruit into the blender as he reached for the cream of coconut. Smiling wisely, he smiled reassuringly as he added, "No need to repeat that little moment."

"I'd prefer to never even think of that ever again as long as I live," Reid said softly, his fingers tapping together as he watched the older man flick open the blender and add a swig of clear liquid.

Now that was an idea he agreed with, Joe thought to himself as he let his mind fall back to the first time he had personally met the young doctor. While the weather might have been similar to this eve, the circumstances, now that was a different kettle of fish all together.

He still remembered the way Spencer Reid's hands had shook as he'd stepped up to the bar, the slightly wild look in his eye. He'd known for sure that the demons chased the lad when the young man had wavered after his question of, "What'll you have, Lad?"

Young Spencer's eyes had gazed longingly at the wall of whiskeys and such behind him, but with stiff lips he'd simply said, "Coffee. Black." And Joe had smiled faintly, inexplicably proud of the man that had been nameless to him at that point.

Pouring the coffee, Joe had eyed the anxious man with keen eyes, holding out his hand and saying softly, "Joe O'Malley."

Spencer had looked nervously at the proffered hand before taking it, mumbling, "Dr. Spencer Reid."

And the pieces had fallen into place then. Gears shifted within his mind as he recalled his fellow Irishman, Jason Gideon, bragging on the young genius he'd cultivated for the Bureau. Seemed young Spencer was something of a prodigy...eidetic memory or some such. A rare jewel in the sea of the ordinary. He'd thought Gideon had been blowing smoke at the time. But seein' the haunted look in the boy's eyes, Joe could see that there were depths to this child that no one had even began to touch.

And the kid had a bigger problem now, too. Because if his information was correct, Dr. Reid's mentor was gone.

Watching as Spencer had raised the steaming cup to his lips, Joe had sighed. And wished he'd listened a mite closer when Gideon had rambled on about his precious find.

"It's good," Spencer had mumbled around the lip of the generic white mug, both his hands tightly gripping the ceramic.

Yep, Joe had thought to himself then, he'd pegged this one right. The signs, they never changed, no matter how young or old the sufferer might be. Dropping the carafe on the bar next to the man/boy, Joe had said gently, "Plenty more where that came from, my boy. Easy to pop another pot onto the fire."

He had dealt with a few new customers then, a gaggle of out of towners obviously enjoying an unlimited expense account, letting young Spencer find his bearings for a wee moment. But the good doctor hadn't more than moved a muscle the entire he had been gone, his thin shoulders hunched protectively over himself as he had drained that cup of coffee, his eyes glued to the waxed counter as if he was reading non-existent tea leaves. Or studiously attempting to avoid the wide display of filled bottles lining the glass shelves.

Easing to stand in front of him once again, Joe had lifted the coffee pot, filling the almost empty cup as he had commented, "Awfully late for a trip out this time of night. Not much fit for man or beast in that storm's that a'brewing."

"I had nowhere to go," Spencer had offered softly, his automatic honesty betraying him once more.

"Nowhere to go, eh? Well, now, this bar is home to many that feel that way," Joe mused, looking around at several familiar faces. Remembering one of Gideon's references to Reid, he fished under the counter. "Do ye play chess, lad?" Joe asked easily, wrapping his fingers around his childhood game, the very one he had used in many a match with his long-gone but not forgotten son.

"I do...I mean, I did. My partner is....he left," Reid said, his voice hoarse as his hands tightened around the warm mug between his fingers as he watched Joe drop a board onto the polished surface of the bar.

"Seems to me, you might need a new counterpart. And I've been in this bar for almost twenty years. No danger in my vanishing, my boy. You'll always know where to find my Irish arse."

Smiling faintly, Spencer had nodded. And they'd passed the worst of his shakes playin' a leisurely game. The first of many of the years.

Looking at the still youthful face of the Spencer Reid now, his eyes still held shadows...secrets. But, less so now. And he truly hoped that he'd done something to help ease that over these past few years.

"So," Reid said, accepting the fruity concoction from Joe's hand, his long fingers wrapping around the coldness, "Time for a game later?" he asked hopefully, looking around the busy bar.

Smiling widely, Joe nodded as he reached out to cuff the thin shoulders. "Should thin out in 'bout an hour, my boy. And if not...we'll have our Lucky Penny tend the bar."

Watching Spencer's head bob happily, Joe watched as the lean man loped toward the back of the bar to join some of the few people on earth that actually knew to appreciate pure genius.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale". You heard Joe's philosophy on Hotch, Emily, Morgan, Penelope and most recently, Reid. Now let's see what insight he had into JJ.**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"JJ"**_

Glancing over at the almost full rounded booth in the corner, Joe nodded to himself as he took a mental count, rubbing the already clean counter with his white rag. Yep, there were still two more to go.

He'd seen them all come in together before, usually laughing and joking as they were obviously celebrating some success that he knew he'd rather not know about. But on nights like tonight, nights when apparently the win had been far harder to record, he was well accustomed to the members of this special group straggling in one at a time, almost as if they had needed time alone to process whatever horror they had seen before they could garner any support from one another.

Hearing the light tinkling of the ever-present entry bell, Joe looked over his shoulder, a smile forming on his lips as he saw the petite blonde that had easily become one of his favorites. If Penny was a sudden ray of sunshine, then little JJ could best be described as the soft glowing moon, constant even in the darkest of nights. Sure, the wee lass might wax and wane with the changing seasons, her own trials and troubles eclipsing that light on the rarest of occasions. But, that aside, he knew in his heart that she was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

And today, when he had seen a glimpse of her serious but professional face on the television mounted in the corner, he had thought, proudly, that his country was lucky to have her on their side.

Genuinely pleased at her appearance, he returned her soft smile as she easily approached the bar, her shoulders more slumped than normal. "And how's my favorite TV personality today?"

"She's hoping to stay out of the limelight for a while," JJ admitted with a tired smile of her own as she greeted the older man.

"Speaking of the bitter green," Joe answered, reaching for the bucket of chilled sour fruit he kept ready at all occasions, dropping it to the front as he wrapped his fingers around the gin. "Will I be servin' up your normal poison tonight, lassie?"

"I don't think so, Joe," JJ answered slowly, dropping wearily to the nearest barstool as she pulled her aching feet upon the metal bar. Meeting his eyes, she said softly, just loud enough for him to hear, "I think I'm gonna need something a bit softer for a few months. But let's make it look like the real thing, okay?"

Catching the tell-tale glint in her shuttered blue eyes, Joe kept his elation to himself as he merely nodded, letting a small grin play on his lips. Easily placing the half-full glass bottle back on the shelf, he cocked his graying head as he took stock of the situation. "Now, surely, I wouldn't be the first to know this bit of good news? Knowing your watchdog, he's surely to be walking on cloud nine."

Shrugging as she shook her head, JJ propped her chin on her folded hands as she answered, "Let's just say I'm not up to playing twenty questions with a bunch of professional profilers tonight. You've seen them in action. I don't relish being the center of their attention."

"Then it's an unleaded dram ye be a seeking," he replied with a nod, deliberately deepening his brogue as he reached for the sparkling soda water. It wouldn't be the first secret he'd kept for this modern day Wonder Woman. At least from her team, that is. Now, Rossi had been another story altogether. After all, Joe'd needed to know that someone had her back that night from long ago.

Because for all his life experiences, Joe had never taken a human life. And on a night much like this one, many years ago, Jennifer Jareau had taken her first...the life of a monstrous man named Battle who had invaded their very sanctuary, the place this crew held most sacred. Personally, his first thought on hearing that this tiny slip of a lass had taken the life of the man that had nearly stolen Penelope Garcia from them was to erect a monument in the center of his bar in her honor. That was, until he'd seen the price she'd paid etched in her beautiful face.

Because the last thing in the world this little woman had ever wanted to do had been to take another life. Now that, that was a different kettle of fish entirely. He'd known, along with everyone else that knew her, that she could act if necessary, her skills with a firearm well known. But having the capability of something and actually putting thought to deed were entirely different things.

And her soul had paid the price. Almost too high a price, in his opinion.

She'd sat at his bar that night, downing gimlet after gimlet, as she tried to numb her heart against the horror of what she'd done. She'd told him, repeatedly, that she wouldn't change her actions...and he knew she was tellin' true. If anything personified Jennifer Jareau, it was her loyalty to her friends. No, he knew she wouldn't change a thing. But the guilt of pulling the kill shot that night weighted heavily on her shoulders, and he'd seen her slipping further and further down that slippery slope into the land of unwise choices. And once that destination was reached, turning back became an almost insurmountable feat.

So, he'd made an executive decision. His bar, after all, his rules. And he'd made a phone call to the man currently walking slowly through his door. He'd called David Rossi. Because if there was one man he knew had walked that lass' path before, it was the elder agent. He'd been her shadow even then though she hadn't realized it yet. Realization hadn't come until a few years later. But Joe liked to think that he'd set them both on the right path that long ago eve.

"Yer old man's arrived, lass," Joe murmured, slipping the chilled glass in front of her, nodding at her inquisitive gaze. Watching as she looked over her shoulder, he couldn't help the slow grin that overtook his face as he watched David Rossi and JJ exchange a soft look, her look of exhaustion partially giving way to relief and happiness. Aye, he'd made the right decision all those years ago in calling the grizzled profiler to come help him watch over this young lady. The look only confirmed what he'd always known. David Rossi loved Jennifer Jareau with an unholy passion.

And over the years, Joe watched her love him right back.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note - First, a little explanation of this story...Please join us as we meet Joe the Bartender, probably the only person to have an unfettered view into the lives of each member of the BAU at the moments they are most likely to let their guard down. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the team as seen through Joe's surprisingly insightful eyes. This will contain some pairings. This was written in response to Kavi Leighanna's Television Prompt Challenge for February - Cheers "The Bartender's Tale". You heard Joe's philosophy on Hotch, Emily, Morgan, Penelope, Reid and most recently, JJ. Now let's see what insight he had into David Rossi.**_

_** And this is the end of the journey, would you like to see more of Joe and his Irish wisdom in another story? Let us know.**_

**The Bartender's Tale**

_**"Rossi"**_

His acquaintance with David Rossi had began over two decades ago, when he was just a lowly bartender and the dark-headed man was only just making a name for himself in some special unit of one of the government agencies that had its home in the area. Time had seen them both change, he finally buying the very bar that had become a second home to him, and Rossi becoming some sort of world celebrity. Thanks to the generosity of the famous author, Joe had an autographed copy of every book the great man had written, personally delivered, if you called sliding them absently over the bar like an afterthought a delivery, always by the man himself.

But while the world clamored for the next best-seller or the agent's ability to solve those crimes he'd personally rather not know about, Joe saw a different side of the taciturn man. Many a night, a much younger Rossi had made his way to his hideout, slowly nursing a one form or another of scotch in the far corner. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he'd share his table with another agent, which is how a far younger Aaron Hotchner had come to be a regular patron. Other times, which were far more common, a young lass or two hung off Rossi's arm and on his every word, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Oh, he'd heard about the escapades, his daughters keeping him up-to-date on the latest innuendos and claims from the gossip columns. Truth be told, he'd even watched a few of them unfold in this very place. He'd even received an invitation to the third wedding, some shrew by the name of Helena. He'd known that one would never last and even won the bettin' pool for his insight. But in the long run, none of those women had seemed to suit the searching Rossi. Not at all. It was almost as if the man was waiting, not so patiently, for the perfect match.

Which is why, this time when the older agent turned to the bar, Joe could see a definite change in his eyes. No more of the searching. No more of the desire to deaden his unfathomable thoughts in a short glass or tall bottle. Nay, the man had found his lasting happiness at last. In the form of a tiny woman that matched him step for step.

Although he surely wished this newfound happiness might have done more to soften the man's tongue, Joe thought to himself as he bit back a grin. Meeting Rossi's dark eyes, he asked, jovially, "So am I to assume the Old Bastard's bellying up to the bar?"

"Bite me, you Irish potatohead," Dave grumbled, nodding as Joe held up a bottle of scotch. "Go easy on me tonight, Joe. Henry's got a Little League game tomorrow morning."

Smiling, Joe nodded, visions of the blonde headed scamp skittering through his mind. He'd have laughed his arse off ten years ago at the thought of this customer spending his Saturday morn coaching a team full of young boys on the fine art of the American past time. But bein' as he'd seen it with his own blarney eyes, he couldn't deny that David Rossi had undergone a conversion. From self professed sinner to family man, all in the space of a few meager years. More surprisin' still...it suited him.

"So," Joe drawled softly, dropping a few ice cubes into the square glass with a soft ping, "A wee birdy told me that you'll be addin' to the brood soon, aye?"

Smiling faintly as he glanced over his shoulder toward JJ, Dave nodded, his eyes brightening for a bare second. "It would seem so. She wants to keep it quiet for another month or so."

"Did ye ever think this is where ye'd be that long ago night I called on ye for assistance, my friend?" Joe said, shaking his head as he followed Rossi's gaze, noticing how the one time rogue couldn't take his eyes off the gentle features of the tiny lass.

"Honestly, no. I thought she'd be much too bright than to get involved with a has been like me," Dave chuckled.

"Well," Joe drawled, swirling the glass in his hands. "It isn't as though the lass didn't lead you a merry chase," he chuckled appreciatively.

Cocking his eyebrow, Dave shook his head as he replied, "I seem to remember more than one night that you watched her walk out of this bar alone."

"And you pantin' after her like a dog in heat," Joe laughed again, enjoying the flush spreading across his old friend's cheeks. "Until one night that she didn't."

"The night I wrecked your bar," Dave said with a small grin, cocking his head at the memory. "Still sorry about that, by the way," Dave said apologetically as Joe slid his drink in front of him.

"I'm not. That Will LaMontagne was a nasty bit of business. It was worth a few shattered glasses to see that lad get what he deserved. Hittin' her in plain sight of all of us," Joe muttered, shaking his head as he felt his fists clench, the horrible sight still too memorable for all of them.

"You know nothing happened between us that night," Dave mused, meeting the bartender's eyes. "She took me home and cleaned up my fists. But, it was the beginning of the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Aye," Joe nodded, glancing toward the back booth where the FBI colleagues apparently laughed at something Reid said. "It was. I was right all those years ago, wasn't I? She was what was missing, wasn't she? From your life?"

"You've always been a very wise man, Joe," Dave nodded, drawing a short sip from the cool glass. "And yeah, she was the missing piece. One I'm never letting go."

"Mayhap you are as smart as they say you are, my friend. Get ye gone," Joe ordered, waving a hand toward the back of the bar, the sight of the ragtag group laughing and smiling warming the cockles of his ehart. "And tell the lass, her secret is safe with Old Joe."

"We never doubted it would be, Joe," Dave smiled, picking up his drink and ambling toward his table, his path sure as he slid in next to the woman he loved.

Watching as the last member of the BAU's family took his seat, Joe breathed a sigh of relief as he reached for his white cloth. Each one, safe and accounted for, back in the fold and away from danger for the moment.

Twas shaping up to be a good night, indeed.

_**FINIS**_


End file.
